“Why? If you don’t mind my asking.” All of this made Rixey’s instincts prickle with awareness. What the hell did Charlie find? Given the trouble the Army had gone to prettying up Merritt’s story, Nick was surprised to think they’d missed a loose end somewhere. Was it possible that trouble had followed the colonel’s casket home from Afghanistan?
Becca cut her glance to him, her expression wary. “Charlie’s gay. Dad didn’t react well when Charlie came out, and he never made it right before he died.”
Rixey frowned. Sonofabitch. The news soured his stomach and stripped away another part of the heroic veneer her father had worn. Given Jeremy’s inclination to play both sides of the field, Rixey had no tolerance for homophobic bullshit. That Rixey knew of, Jer had never been serious about a man, but that was his business and no one else’s.
“Some of the things they said to each other . . .” She blew out a breath and shook her head. “It wasn’t unusual for Charlie to go off on a rant. Last week when it happened, I cut him off and told him it was time to move on. Dad was dead and nothing good could come from continuing to dwell on the past.” She dropped her gaze to the counter, and Rixey studied her as his brain chewed on her story. “He disconnected the chat, and I couldn’t get in touch with him after that. Day before I came to see you, I found he’d posted the message I showed you about finding you at Hard Ink.”
Damn, there was a lot to process in all that. Not the least of which was the fact that the last time Becca spoke to her brother, or chatted, whatever, they’d fought. And now he was missing. Why and how had Charlie connected whatever he’d supposedly found out about Frank Merritt to Nick, to a member of “the Colonel’s team”? Why would Charlie have thought Rixey relevant for helping them? And how did any of it relate to the guy’s disappearance?
“God, it’s really not much to go on, is it?” The pleading he recalled from the day before returned to her gaze and sliced into him all over again.
“It’s a start. We’ll figure something out. I have a friend who’s a private investigator that I’ll talk to first thing in the morning. Okay?” The little furrow between her brows eased and she nodded. He finished his first sandwich and wiped his mouth. No way he could fix this tonight, but maybe he could take her mind off the situation. “So, what else is on that top five list?” he asked, latching onto her earlier comment.
She nibbled at a piece of her bun. “What do you mean?”
“Of comfort foods.”
“Oh. Let’s see.” She picked up her sandwich again. “Sloppy joes, of course. And, hmm, lasagna, chicken pot pie. Uh, macaroni and cheese. And maybe pot roast. Or meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Aw, or red beans and rice.”
“That’s seven,” he said, enjoying her enthusiasm, not to mention the way talking to her pulled him out of the darkness of his own head. “And no chili and corn bread is a huge oversight.”
“Hmm . . . chili’s a good one. As you can see, I’m not picky.” And he damn well liked that. She finished the rest of her sandwich and reached for another bun, then stretched to scoop more sloppy joe from the pan. After she got it all fixed the way she wanted it, she lifted it to her mouth and glanced at him. “What?”
Rixey shook his head and hoped the distraction had worked. Even if only a little. “Nothing. Eat up.”
They’d just finished their seconds and carried their dirties to the sink when Jeremy walked in. “Dude. You made sloppy joes and didn’t tell me? You better’ve saved me some.” He stepped up to the stove and peered into the pan. “Aw, yeah.”
Becca chuckled.
Jeremy’s gaze cut to her and froze, then he looked at Rixey. Shit, Nick recognized that glint in his brother’s eyes. Jer was about to be a pain in the ass. Since Nick had returned to the real world, he hadn’t once brought a woman here, let alone cooked for her. No doubt his dipshit brother was reading all kinds of significance into that.
“So, Becca, did you enjoy the sloppy joes Nick made for you?”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning against the counter. “They were great.” She didn’t seem to hear the innuendo dripping from the guy’s words.
But Rixey did. And he knew his smart-ass brother enough to know he was like a dog with a bone. Wouldn’t stop until they were squirming. Which would undo the relaxed rapport he’d finally managed to achieve with Becca. “Jeremy,” he said, lacing the syllables with a warning his brother sure as hell would recognize.
Grinning, Jeremy started in. “Wow, that was really nice of Nick to—”
Rixey swiped the pan out from under Jeremy’s nose and crossed to the trash can. His foot depressed the pedal and the metal lid flipped up.
“Hey!” Jeremy whirled, following Nick’s quick movements.
Nick tilted the skillet at a forty-five-degree angle and paused, ready to scoop the leftovers into the trash. “You were saying?”
Jeremy gasped and threw his hands out. “What the hell are you doing, man? You can’t . . . that’s sloppy joe!” Mouth agape, eyes wide, his expression was almost comical.
Becca glanced between them, a confused smile on her face.